


Slow Day

by betawho



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 01:16:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15328512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betawho/pseuds/betawho
Summary: Sometimes even the Doctor has a slow day.





	Slow Day

Orange light glowed in the vast Tardis space. 

The Doctor was sitting on the lower steps, tossing his sonic screwdriver. Flipping it up and catching it. Flipping it up and catching it. Turning it over and looking at it. 

The door opened and River sauntered in. She stopped and stared. He didn’t look up. And she knew he wasn’t expecting her. 

She shut the door. He sat hunched over and tossed his screwdriver from hand to hand. Not looking at her. 

She walked over and sat beside him. “What are you doing, Sweetie?”

He looked up, he didn’t look sad, or angry, or anything really. 

“Nothing.”

Her eyebrow went up. 

He flipped the sonic screwdriver. Quiet, apparently bored, but not bored enough to do anything about it. 

“Nothing.” She said incredulously. 

He looked back at her, those eyes so dark and calm. Completely relaxed, just sitting there. “Sometimes it’s okay to have a slow day.”

He went back to twiddling with his screwdriver. She stared at him. Then she leaned back on her elbows on the stairs and stretched out her legs. 

The Tardis hummed around them. 

He scratched his head with the sonic, then went back to tossing it. She looked over at him, at that long back, at that messy jostle of hair. She smiled and ran her hand up and down his back.

He looked over at her. His eyes slowly slid down all the long curvy length of her. 

She tipped an eyebrow. “Getting any ideas?” she purred suggestively. 

He looked back at her face. “No.” 

She pursed her lips at him, “Pity.”

He flipped the sonic screwdriver. 

She got up and scrambled up to the console, started setting in coordinates. 

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

She trotted back down the stairs. He stared up at her quizzically. She stopped and kissed him on the forehead. 

She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the door. 

“Where are we going?”

She opened the door to a flood of bright sunlight. The hoots and howls and snarls and grumphs of animals, the thump of trodding feet and jumble of conversation, the smell of peanuts and hay. 

He didn’t throw up his hands and exclaim, “Petting zoo!” and drag her off as he normally would. 

He turned to her, and offered an elbow. She tucked her hand in his arm and they ambled out. 

The Tardis door closed. The ship hummed quietly.

  


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